


Surrogate

by WhyNotFly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Subtype: Would have sex to feel less lonely, Crying During Sex, Desk Sex, Dildos, Humiliation, M/M, Sex initiated without consent and then later continues with consent, The main ship is jonelias, but elias is playing the role of sir not appearing in this film, but not in a shippy way, heavy heavy warning for dubcon, implied trans elias, just in a physical way, so all the action is peter/jon, voice kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly
Summary: “Did you want something?”  Jon’s scowl deepened.  Peter grinned and his teeth were not a sailor’s teeth.  Too white, too straight, too uniform.  Of course he wanted something.  No one spoke to Jon unless they wanted something.“Just trying to figure out what he could possibly see in you.”“Martin?”  Jon said, and even as it crawled from his teeth like a whimper he felt the hollow ring of the words.  It was the world he wanted to live in, perhaps.  The world where the listless ache in his chest could be filled with soft sweaters and warm tea.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 143
Collections: End-of-Year Exchange 2019





	Surrogate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nivu_vu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nivu_vu/gifts).



> Happy New Year Linn!! This is dedicated to you. Your original prompt was: Jon/Elias or Jon/Peter/Elias talking about how they feel about each other behind each others' backs. This is......kind of that?? I did my best. I hope you enjoy!

Jon had never met Peter Lukas before, but if he’d been held at gunpoint (again) and forced to describe him, it’d probably be something like this. Salt and pepper beard. Sunken eyes. An air of inhospitality curled lazy and smug around his shoulders. The man was a walking cliche.

“You’re not very attractive, you know,” Peter said, closing the door to Jon’s office behind him as if he didn’t need permission to be there. “You’re a bit short, and the stubble is frankly unappealing.”

Jon half rose from his desk. He didn’t want to engage, but he also worried he might need his full range of movement. His eyes appraised the thick wool of Peter’s overcoat, trying to gauge the muscle mass of his solidly built frame. A rather pointless exercise considering Jon’s own physique. Like trying to separate a hopeless attempt from an _utterly_ hopeless one. 

“What are you doing here?”

“And the scars are a bit of a blech.” Peter stuck out his tongue and made a sound of disgust. 

Jon gripped his burnt hand into a fist and shoved it into his coat pocket. “Well they weren’t for _you_.”

“No,” said Peter, “I suppose they weren’t.”

Something had crept in with Peter like a stray cat nosing through an open doorway. It was a familiar thing, a thing like waking up to an empty hospital room, like being left behind with a foreign map to an unknown destination. Jon knew what it was to be left behind.

“Did you want something?” Jon’s scowl deepened. Peter grinned and his teeth were not a sailor’s teeth. Too white, too straight, too uniform. Of course he wanted something. No one spoke to Jon unless they wanted something.

“Just trying to figure out what he could possibly see in you.”

“Martin?” Jon said, and even as it crawled from his teeth like a whimper he felt the hollow ring of the words. It was the world he wanted to live in, perhaps. The world where the listless ache in his chest could be filled with soft sweaters and warm tea.

Peter stepped farther into the room, his loneliness sweeping in with him, meeting and mingling with the loneliness Jon had steeped to perfection all on his own. Jon flattened his hands against his desk and tried to square his shoulders against the intrusion, but Peter seemed entirely unintimidated. Somewhere in the office a familiar click and whirr signaled the rapt attention of the silent audience who played witness to the tragedy of the Archivist. At least he knew he would be documented. It brought him an uncomfortable amount of comfort.

“I’ve brought you a present,” Peter said, putting a hand just beside Jon’s on his desk and leaning over until Jon could smell the empty nothing of his breath. “You’ve never seen it, but you’ve wanted it.”

“Riddles are a bad look on you,” Jon said and he tried to turn away but Peter’s hand snapped out and grabbed him by the chin, pushing his flesh painfully into the sharp edges of his teeth.

“That’s not very polite.”

“Breaking into someone’s _office_ is not very polite.”

“I would hardly call it breaking in,” Peter said, lightly, “considering I’m your boss. You can’t tell me Elias never... _took advantage_ of his professional position.”

“What?” Jon pulled away sharply, breaking Peter’s hold on him. Panic started threading its way through his lungs and his breath came short. “No!”

“But did you want it?” Peter took a large step around the side of Jon’s desk and Jon scrambled to back away again. His hip bumped into his chair and sent it spinning, and the delay was just long enough for Peter to close the gap again, coming between Jon and easy escape. “Did you imagine it?”

Jon swallowed the answers he couldn’t say. He felt eyes in the bookshelves. The tape recorder hummed in the background, endless and oppressive. 

“How did it feel when you died and came back and he’d _abandoned_ you? I can smell it on you.” Peter leaned in and buried his nose in the crook of Jon’s neck, mouthing the words into his skin. “You’re so adrift.”

Ice crawled up Jon’s spine and he didn’t know if it was from Peter’s breath or his words. A thigh nudged in between his legs and he hated himself for the way he shivered down into it.

“Get _off_ of me,” Jon brought his hands up to Peter’s chest and pushed as if he believed he could actually free himself from any of the torments of his life.

“He does nothing but talk about you,” Peter whined, leaning away from Jon but keeping his hips forward, pinning him back against the desk. “There must be something I’m not seeing.”

Jon closed his eyes and shuddered as Peter dug his knee harder into his groin. When he opened them again, Peter was toying idly with a smooth, semi-translucent, dark blue dildo. 

“It’s Elias’ favorite dick,” Peter said. “Say thank you.”

“What?” Jon struggled to catch his breath.

“Don’t you want to know what it feels like to have Elias’ cock in you?” Jon’s face went suddenly scarlet. He tried to answer, but the words all tripped into each other and collapsed into a pile of half-imagined excuses. Peter pushed the dildo forward and teased at Jon’s lips, pulling them back from his teeth. “Come on, Archivist, you can’t lie to me.”

“What do you ggf—” Jon’s question was gagged as Peter shoved the dildo deep into his open mouth. His jaw stung at the sudden intrusion and he glared at Peter with watering eyes. 

“Tell me, Archivist, can your god tell you how many times this cock has been inside me?” Peter’s ring glinted gold in the incandescent lighting. Jon tried to complain around the cock being slowly fucked deeper into his mouth but it came out as a muffled groan. Peter pushed until Jon felt his throat convulse and then he drew it out painfully slowly until it popped free of Jon’s lips. Saliva dripped onto his chin as he gasped for air.

“I suppose I can understand why he might like that mouth of yours,” Peter said, tapping the still slick dildo against Jon’s cheek, “when it’s properly occupied.”

“Fuck you,” Jon rasped out and Peter laughed like condensation dripping down Jon’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“If you insist.” Peter grabbed suddenly for Jon’s fly, his hands brushing carelessly against Jon’s shamefully hard cock in his rush to remove Jon’s trousers. Jon tried to grab his wrists and stop him, struggling with renewed vigor as his mind flooded with panicked adrenaline at the sudden understanding of what was going to happen to him.

“Stop,” he pleaded, cut off, as Peter tugged his pants out of his grip and left them bunched at his knees. “Don’t—”

“Does he enjoy that? The pleading? The transparent attempts at dignity?” Peter grasped Jon by the shoulder and stepped back so he could spin Jon neatly around and push his face down into the mess of papers spread across his desk. “Or are you better for him? If I was Elias, would you be a good little slut for me?”

Jon thrashed against Peter’s hand holding his shoulder, statements crinkling beneath him. “Peter, please—”

“I’m a lot nicer than him, you know. I’ll slick this up for you.” Jon felt the wet slide of the dildo against the curve of his ass. “I’m intimately aware of how overwhelming it can be.”

Jon gripped the edge of his desk with white-knuckled fists, his brain swirling suddenly with the irrational need to not cry on his statements. He wouldn’t want to ruin them. 

Peter lifted his hand from Jon’s shoulder and brought it down to squeeze too tight around his cock and Jon let out a deeply undignified noise. And then Peter’s hands were gone, and nothing was restraining Jon except the weight of the knowledge that Peter was stronger than him, and the iron chains that drew him endlessly, inexorably towards Elias. He quivered in horrified anticipation, and didn’t move. 

“Are you ready for the fun part, Archivist?” Peter asked, but all the pretty words Jon stole from others were crushed beneath his face, and Peter wasn’t much looking for an answer anyway. The dildo brushed over his hole and Jon felt like he could see it when he closed his eyes. Maybe he could. Maybe after all this time, what the Beholding really wanted was to show him his own debasement, let him know just how easily the thick, blue cock slid into him, as if it was made for him. As if he’d been made for it. 

Or maybe this was just what _Elias_ wanted for him. The thought made his toes curl.

Peter was surprisingly patient, waiting for Jon to adjust to the pain before sliding more of the length in, but maybe he just thought he was being torturous. Jon counted his breaths as he waited for it to finally bottom out, for it to finally be over and then he could at least know what he’d gotten himself into.

“Oh, I’d forgotten my other little surprise,” Peter said, and Jon tried to suppress his sudden thrill of terror and excitement at the words. With a weighty thunk, Peter dropped a tape recorder in front of Jon’s face.

“W-what?” Jon tried to ask, but his voice was breathy and he couldn’t muster the concentration for compulsion. He squirmed a bit around the cock inside him, trying futilely to make it more comfortable.

As answer, Peter reached over Jon’s body and pressed play. The tape had been wound halfway through, but Jon knew it even before the words started to pour from the speaker, honey smooth and achingly familiar.

 _Come on_ , Jon, Elias said in that same smug tone Jon hadn’t heard in weeks. Months, his brain supplied, considering the coma. _There’s really no need for the scowl._

Jon whined deep in his throat as Peter shoved the last few inches into Jon in one sweeping motion.

“You’re not much of anything, in the end, are you?” Peter said, cruelly twisting the hilted dildo back and forth inside Jon. “Not much of a looker, not much of an ass, and horrible to be around.”

Jon nearly sobbed as Peter pulled the cock out of him and slammed it back in, driving Jon’s hips forward into the edge of his desk.

 _You’re doing a lot better than I expected,_ said Elias.

“It’s no wonder he didn’t want to be around you anymore.”

Jon couldn’t hold his voice in as Peter sped up his pace, fucking Jon hard into the desk. He moaned and pleaded for something he wasn’t sure of, to someone who wasn’t there. Peter seemed content to fade into the background, and Jon let his mind curl around the staticky comfort of Elias’ recorded voice. As if he was there. As if he’d finally come back for him.

_What are you?_

"The Archivist,” Jon whispered, just as he had all those months ago.

_Precisely. It is your job to chronicle these things, to experience them, whether firsthand or through the eyes of others. To simply be told, well…_

_It wouldn’t please your master?_ Jon’s voice said, and it sounded so young and faraway.

_Our master, Jon._

Jon cried out in pleasure as Peter struck something deep inside him, as _Elias’ cock_ drove into him again and again and drove him closer and closer to the edge and then it suddenly stopped. Jon lifted his head blearily from the desk to watch as Peter took a step back and leaned casually against the wall. Watching. His eyes were cold and unsatisfying. 

“P-Peter, please,” Jon twitched and shifted his hips desperately, feeling his impending orgasm slipping from his grasp.

“I thought you didn’t want this,” Peter said, and Jon hated the smile in his voice. He hated the cruel tint of his too-perfect teeth as he stood and he watched when it should be someone else. Jon belonged to someone else. “Well go on, then. I won’t stop you. You can take it out if you want to.”

 _You never wanted this, no,_ Elias said so softly, as if he was whispering directly into Jon’s ear. As if he’d always known they would end up here. _But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see_.

Jon slowly unclenched a shaking hand from the edge of his desk and reached back for the base of the dildo lodged inside him. He pulled it out, groaning at the way his body clenched and shivered around it.

_Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless._

“E-Elias,” Jon moaned into his statements as he gripped the dildo tighter and shoved it back inside him as far as he could manage. Behind him, Peter was laughing, but Jon didn’t care. He brought his other hand down to stroke his aching cock as he pumped Elias in and out of him. Jon writhed against his desk, heat rising through him in waves, until his cries for Elias were nothing but choking sobs. 

By the time he slipped the toy free and straightened himself up, Peter was gone, leaving nothing but a chill in the air and a still spooling tape recorder.

 _Am I...Elias, am I still human?_ Jon’s voice asked.

 _Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? You still bleed, you can still die. And your will is still your own, mostly. That’s more than can be said for a lot of the real humans out there._

In his office, Jon fetched a box of tissues and cleaned himself up as best he could before sliding his pants and trousers back up. He felt less dirty, less violated than he wanted to feel. Than he should feel.

_You’re worried about ending up like that thing lurking in the dirt under the streets of Alexandria. Don’t be. Just do what you need to do and you’ll be fine. Understood?_

“Understood,” said Jon, and he reached forward and clicked the tape off.


End file.
